


The Ineffable Road Trip

by SleeveOfSaltines



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Handyman - AWOLNATION (Song), Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Touch-Starved Aziraphale (Good Omens), Touch-Starved Crowley (Good Omens), but it's mostly fluff, there'll potentially be sex later on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-08 10:36:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21474622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleeveOfSaltines/pseuds/SleeveOfSaltines
Summary: "I know you said no to Alpha Centauri, but I figured that Portland is a bit closer so I thought, uh, you might want to, you know, take a road trip?”UPDATE: I have decided to rewrite this as I have decided to go in a different direction. I will not be posting any updates here, but the link below is for the version I intend to finish. Bear with me, as I think this newer version is going to be better.https://archiveofourown.org/works/21978148/chapters/52445263
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is another one shot that got out of hand and has turned into a full-fledged slow-burn in which Aziraphale, afraid of Heaven's judgement, takes Crowley up on his offer to go on a good old-fashioned road trip in the American west to escape. It's loosely based on Awolnation's song "Handyman" and is 90% fluff.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I admit, this is not my best work, but it's just a chapter or two of necessary exposition before we get into the cute shit.

Crowley unlocked the door to his flat gingerly and slipped inside. Looking around, the room seemed even darker than it had been the last time he had been there. Since the apocalypse, or rather, lack thereof, the demon found it harder and harder to step foot inside the gloomy reminder of his isolation. He had spent the last couple of weeks sleeping on the couch in Aziraphale’s newly-renovated bookshop. He had no real reason to, really. Aziraphale was in and out constantly, tying up loose ends with heaven, and even when he was around it wasn’t like Crowley was staying in the angel’s own apartment or anything. He just… he couldn’t lose him for a second time.

Crowley flicked the lights on and surveyed the room. He didn’t want to be there, but his plants needed watering and, even more so he thought with a smirk, some discipline for their lackluster performance. Grabbing his watering can and sauntering across the room in a way he hoped was intimidating, he began to check on each plant. Very quickly, he noticed that one had a very large brown spot on one of its leaves.

“Now, what the heaven is this?” the demon snarled, swiping up the pot. The plant, a small fern growing in a beautiful Grecian vase, began to tremble violently in fear. Crowley smirked, but was shocked to feel a twinge of guilt for upsetting the plant. What was this? He had never felt bad for abusing his plants before – it was their fault for not growing better, not his – but nevertheless he set the plant back down with a warning glare.

Sighing, Crowley picked the watering can back up and continued to tend to the other plants. He knew why he was feeling the way he was; a few nights before, Aziraphale had returned from heaven, looking more defeated than the demon had ever seen him. At first the angel attempted to dissuade Crowley from thinking the worst, assuring him he was just tired. However, the hurt look in his eyes betrayed him and Crowley eventually was able to piece together that Gabriel and the others were less than pleased with the angel’s “consorting” and had decided to deliberate on the rogue principality’s fate. That evening, Crowley didn’t need to ask what this meant – he had seen it before, he had LIVED it before – it might be the end of the angel. Although it was clear Aziraphale had nothing against demons, that was an entirely different story than becoming one himself, and thus as Crowley looked at the trembling plant, he could only see his angel, eyes wide with fear.

Crowley put the watering can back and, after casting one last glare at the fern, locked the door behind him. Standing out on the landing, he paused. What was next? It was unclear how much longer he would have with the angel. He knew heaven would not destroy him, not after everything he had done, and yet… yet something about the situation felt urgent. Aziraphale was back at the shop, awaiting a verdict on a trial he wasn’t even privy to, and Crowley knew how much it must have been hurting him.

He swung around and unlocked his door for a second time, and strode past the plants to his bedroom. Reaching into the drawer next to the bed, he pulled out a stack of money which he kept around just in case he ever needed to make a legal transaction. Smiling at the fact that such a morally pure moment had not come up, he exited the apartment once again and made his way down the street.

…

Aziraphale straightened the stack of books on the end table for what was probably the dozenth time that morning. Although he knew that no customers would be coming in – he had closed a few days prior upon the news from heaven and had not reopened since – he couldn’t stop himself from making the place look as neat as possible. He couldn’t stop fidgeting and frequently found himself pacing around the shop. It wasn’t that he was unhappy being there – quite the contrary, actually, as he was beyond glad that he had his treasured store back – but he couldn’t help feeling stuck, like a rat in a cage awaiting some sort of torture.

The bell behind Aziraphale rang, causing the angel to jump. He knew he had locked the door and thus the only person entering could be Crowley, as he had the only other key, but Aziraphale was still tentative when he peeked around a bookcase to identify the intruder. Luckily, as he had suspected, a slightly ruffled red-headed demon stood just inside the entrance, clutching a bag and shaking rain water from his jacket. His hair, which he had grown out again, was plastered to his face and he looked as if he were ready to have a less-than-friendly chat with God about Her choice in weather. However, when his eyes caught Aziraphale who had stepped out into the open, the demon smiled.

“Hello angel, how are you doing?” Crowley asked, hanging his coat up and moving forward to greet him. Although Aziraphale detected a slight hint of concern in his voice which he took to be a little patronizing, he knew that Crowley legitimately cared. Over the last few weeks, Crowley’s brash swagger had not deteriorated in the slightest, but the more nights he chose to sleep on the couch in the shop or asked the angel out to dinner, the more Aziraphale knew that Crowley wasn’t about to go anywhere.

Smiling, Aziraphale motioned for the two to sit down in their favorite chairs. With a snap of his fingers, a fire sprang to life in the hearth, and Crowley took the chair closest to warm himself.

“I’m fine.” Aziraphale said with a smile which he immediately realized looked horribly fake. “Actually,” the angel conceded, “It’s been a long day, Crowley. I know that Heaven just needs to look my file over and that they really don’t have that much of a case against me and that if they were going to do something they would have done it already, but still…” he trailed off, settling down into his own chair. His cheeks flushed as he felt the demon looking at him and hoped he could just sink into the chair and not have to think about anything ever again.

“It’s ok, angel” Crowley said softly. “I know. I’m not sure what’s going to happen either.” The demon went quiet for a minute, and Aziraphale was almost taken aback by the lack of effort Crowley put forth. However, as he looked up, he saw that Crowley had a tired grin on his face and was clutching the water-stained bag he had carried in.

“I got something for you, though.” the demon continued. “I don’t know if you’ll like it, or if you even want to think about something like this right now, but… just open it, angel.”

Aziraphale took the bag and carefully reached inside to feel something hard and rectangular. Opening it wide, he looked in to see a book. Considering the number of books he owned, there was a decent chance that whatever was in the bag he already owned, yet as he pulled it out he realized that none of his collection was from Crowley. Over the years the two had interacted many, many times, but Crowley never seemed to take any interest in literature. In fact, Aziraphale had never seen the demon read at all. Because of this, the fact that he had suddenly gifted him a book seemed very odd to Aziraphale.

However, he became even more confused when he read the title. “The American West?” he asked. He was unsure why, in the midst of this crisis, the demon was buying him what appeared to be travel guides. “Wh…” the angel trailed off as two pieces of paper slipped out from under the cover and fluttered to the floor. Reaching to pick them up, Aziraphale caught the word “Delta” and Crowley chuckled.

“I know you said no to Alpha Centauri, but I figured that Portland is a bit closer so I thought, uh, you might want to, you know, take a road trip?” The demon looked abashed, and Aziraphale suddenly realized what he was asking. Neither of them knew how much longer they had, and Crowley was offering them an escape, even if just for a bit. The angel stared at the tickets, overcome with emotion. The demon could do anything, anything, he could run far away and not get mixed up in Heaven, and yet he decided to use his time to show Aziraphale the world? He felt tears rise to his eyes, and looked up to see an expectant Crowley, still blushing slightly.

“I’ve barely spent any time in America!” Aziraphale explained, breaking into a smile. “You want to do this for me?”

Crowley laughed. “Of course, angel. What would I rather be doing?”

“I don’t know, brooding or something?” the angel giggled. “When would we go?”

“The Bentley’s out front, so, I guess, as soon as you pack a bag.”

For a moment, Aziraphale forgot the weight of Heaven’s judgement pressing down on him and jumped to his feet, causing Crowley to laugh again. “Meet you down here in 15?” he asked, making his way to the staircase.

“I’ll be right here.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I admit, this is not my best work, but it's just a chapter or two of necessary exposition before we get into the cute shit.

“For fuck’s sake, who decided that this was a good idea?” Crowley clutched the armrests as the Airbus hit another spot of turbulence. Aziraphale sat next to the window next to Crowley, who was sitting next to a rather rotund older lady who was snoring violently.

“Well, if I remember correctly, that would be you my dear.” Aziraphale smirked, resting his hand on Crowley’s trembling arm. He knew the demon was just as excited as he was, but unlike the man next to him, Aziraphale didn’t mind flying and thus was much calmer at the start of their trip.

“Aw, piss off.” Crowley snarled, but softened up a bit as the angel patted his arm.

Looking out the window as the dark countryside flashed by below them, illuminated every now and then by the glow of a distant town, Aziraphale decided it would be as good a time as any to ask Crowley what his plans were. He had agreed to this trip for a variety of reasons. Primarily was the fact that he just needed to get away from Gabriel and the others. Punishment or not, Aziraphale couldn’t stand sitting in the shop day after day, waiting to hear his fate from Heaven. It was driving him mad. He couldn’t stand the idea that he would spend his last days as an Angel sitting around – it just wasn’t like him. However, there was another part of him that agreed for a totally different reason. Glancing over at the demon still tapping his feet anxiously, Aziraphale swallowed hard. He couldn’t bear to spend what might be his last days without Crowley, and when he had asked him only hours before if the angel would run away with him, Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice the sense of relief in his chest, as if something had been lifted off of him. That something, Aziraphale realized with a slight wave of embarrassment, was the regret he held for not taking Crowley up on his offer to run away together. Neither of them had meant anything much by it at the time – they just wanted to escape the apocalypse – but now, after the dust had settled, the demon still wanted to be with him? Aziraphale blushed, cleared his throat, and turned to Crowley.

“So,” he started, bracing himself for the stupid question he was about to ask, “What exactly is a ‘road trip’?”

Crowley laughed and turned to the angel, but didn’t stop tapping his feet. “It’s when you travel by car to go see things. You know, like nature and stuff. I know you don’t love my driving, but I think you’ll like it.” Crowley sighed. “I’ve never actually been on one myself, I’ve been too busy with my demonic duties and whatnot, but I’ve heard humans say that they can be really fun.”

“Shhhh,”Aziraphale muttered, casting a nervous glance at the sleeping woman next to Crowley. Luckily, it seemed that she hadn’t heard his remark about what “humans” like, and Crowley’s “demonic duties.” “This sounds fun, but how are we planning on traveling? I guess we could miracle your automobile over here.”  
Crowley chuckled. “Ha! Can you imagine living in the Bentley for weeks? No, it’d be bloody uncomfortable. I was thinking that we could find a new ride when we land. I’m not opposed to doing miracles, you know, but I think it’d be kinda fun to travel…” Crowley lowered his voice, “…like humans. You know, they seem to really enjoy these trips – they make automobiles for that specific purpose!”

“I’d like that.” Aziraphale mumbled, suddenly feeling tired. “We should try to sleep a bit… it’ll be a long ride to Oregon.

“Hmmph,” Crowley agreed, settling down in his seat and pulling the blanket the flight attendant had given him earlier over their bodies. “That’d be a good idea.”

Aziraphale rested his head back, letting his eyes shut. As he began to doze off, he mentally thanked Crowley for not bringing up the fact that he had agreed to this trip not knowing what it entailed.

…

Crowley opened his eyes to blinding sunlight. He wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep for, but he could tell it had been a while. Glancing to his right, he noticed the woman was no longer snoring and was now watching some film on the TV in front of her. Turning to Aziraphale, he was a little surprised to see the angel awake; he had seemed so tired the night before. His clothes were rumpled from sleeping in the seat, but his face was rosy and his bright eyes darted over the lines of text in the book in front of him. _Heart of Darkness_. Wasn’t that one really depressing? Crowley didn’t have much of a taste for literature, but he seemed to remember that his side had something to do with the author. However, he realized with a pang of contentment, that this was the happiest he had seen Aziraphale since he had begun reporting back to Heaven, and for once the angel seemed at peace.

Nudging Aziraphale, Crowley muttered, “What do I have to get some food around here?” Aziraphale looked up with his shining eyes at the demon and smiled.

“You slept through breakfast, but I saved you some snacks. The attendants should be around soon with lunch too.”

Sure enough, within minutes a woman dressed in a sharp suit came past with a little metal cart, and handed each of them a sandwich wrapped in plastic. Crowley unwrapped his and bit down, but was disappointed to only taste mayo and cheap cold cuts. He glanced over at Aziraphale, ready to ask if that was an American thing or if someone was out to get him, but saw that the angel’s sandwich was entirely different – cheeses, vegetables, and roast meats which looked delectable. The angel blushed and, with a snap of his fingers, transformed Crowley’s sandwich into an identical one.

“Almost like humans.” He said with a wry smile, and turned back to his book, sandwich in hand. Crowley took a bit of his new sandwich which he savored, attempting to ignore the sharp looks of jealousy from the woman with the mediocre sandwich next to him.

…

Standing outside the airport, Crowley squinted against the sun at a sign attached to the side of the building. “Right up here,” he said, picking up his suitcase. “We should be able to get a cab from here.”

The two walked up to the bench which Crowley indicated, and they sat down. Crowley, grateful for the many pairs of sunglasses he owned, pulled out his phone. Typing a few key words in, he was able to locate what he was looking for. Just as he put his phone away, a bright yellow taxi pulled up and the two stuffed their luggage in the trunk before climbing into the back seat.

“Where to, gentlemen?” asked the driver, an older man with a crooked smile and a ripped baseball cap proclaiming his allegiance to a sports team Crowley had never heard of.

“Uh, the used car lot over on Birchwood. You know the place?” Crowley hoped he didn’t have to be more specific; he didn’t want to answer a bunch of personal questions, especially considering he had no cover story.

“Oh yea, I know where that’s at. That’ll be only like 20 minutes.” For a few seconds, the driver was silent, much to Crowley’s appreciation. However, the silence was short-lived.

“So, British, eh? What are you gentlemen doing over in the states?” The driver glanced in the mirror at the pair’s attire. “Business?”

Crowley, about to murmur some sort of affirmation, was interrupted by Aziraphale who interjected brightly, “Oh, no sir, we’re on holiday! Cr- er… Anthony here just asked me to come with him last night! We’re going on a road trip!”

The driver glanced between the pair in a knowing way and smiled. “Ah, I wish you the best of luck. It’s really beautiful out here. Lots of nice places to visit.”

Crowley was mentally face-palming himself and shot the angel a dirty look. He was already disoriented enough from the plane, did Aziraphale really need to embarrass them too? However, his annoyance faded quickly as he saw just how happy the angel looked. It could be worse. Besides, was the driver’s assumption really that horrible of a prospect?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is pretty fluffy, sorry y'all. I just projected really hard.

As the taxi drove off, Crowley turned to Aziraphale. “Was it really necessary that you tipped him THAT much?”

“Oh, come on Crowley, he was so nice! He seemed so happy for us going on this trip!” The angel, completely unaware of his own obliviousness, had turned to the dealership in front of them and had started walking, pulling Crowley along by the arm of his coat. Sighing, Crowley followed.

Calling the sight in front of them a dealership was like calling a grimy motel a resort. Much less of a place of sale and more of a junkyard, the ramshackle old pole barn in front of them was surrounded by every sort of vehicle imaginable, with parts strewn everywhere. Broken down palates and rusted old paint cans rested against the sides of the building, and Crowley swore he saw a squirrel run through the door which sat ajar. He glanced back down at his phone, making sure they were at the right place. Were people really giving this place five stars? Oh well, they had cars, and as long as nobody pulled a knife on them, it would serve their purpose. Crowley just wanted to get on the road, away from the city and away from their issues.

Upon reaching the door, Aziraphale tapped it slightly, before pushing it open the rest of the way and stepping in side, Crowley in tow. Inside was… cluttered to say the least. Stacks of paper reached half way to the ceiling, and every available desk was covered in boxes, files, and tools. The sole source of light was a flickering florescent light hanging from the vaulted roof, and the whole place smelled of mothballs and motor oil. Although Crowley was used to the dark, crowdedness of Hell, he didn’t have a good feeling about the place. The last think he wanted was for them to be discorporated by some maniac with an ax, and just as he opened his mouth to suggest to the angel that they just go look at the vehicles, a figure emerged from the shadows.

“Oh, hello, there. Are you guys looking for a new vehicle?” The deep voice surprised Crowley, especially considering that it came from the petit old man wearing torn overalls who stood only to the demon’s chest.

“Uh, yes. We heard about your place, and were looking for something new to drive.” Crowley, accepting he would have to be rather blunt about what the two of them needed, swallowed and continued. “We’re going on a road trip, you see. For professional business. A business road trip. We need some sort of… what’s the word… camper?” Crowley once again noticed the man’s eyes dart between the Briton and his giddy-looking companion, and cursed himself for not coming up with a better story. Despite him attempting to make their vacation sound formal, the hint of excitement in his first sentence gave him away. It was his idea, after all, to go on this trip, and he would never have to see this man again, but still. Crowley would kill someone before he let anyone think he was planning on having a leisurely getaway full of _emotions_. He had an image to maintain, and it was not an image of some cheesy romantic idiot. Nobody needed to see that side of him.

“Ah, of course, right this way!” the dealer seemed excited to have prospective customers, and as Crowley followed him back into the lot he cast Aziraphale a slightly embarrassed smile. As much as it pained him to come across as a softie, he wanted to make sure the angel knew he really was excited – he just was keeping up his image. The angel smiled back, and seemed to understand. Crowley, however, knew that Aziraphale had seen that side of him, and he made a mental note to remind the angel again later about just how not-nice he was.

…

Out in the lot, the sun had reached its peak in the sky, and Crowley was relieved to be out of the crowded barn. Nevertheless, he still felt uneasy. They had been traveling for close to 24 hours, and he desperately wanted to get on the road, alone with the angel. Although this trip was for Aziraphale’s sake, the demon had to admit he too was looking forward to being far away from Heaven and Hell. After thousands of years, the thing the two of them needed more than anything else was an escape, no matter how brief. Crowley worried about what his next duties might be, if any, but what he was going through was nothing compared to Aziraphale. The angel was still feeling the pressure from Heaven and with the impending punishment, Crowley could tell he was close to cracking under the weight. The poor creature had been flinching every time he accidentally brushed up against him, and no matter how hard he tried to hide it, the demon knew he hadn’t been sleeping. Crowley hoped that this trip would help. As soon as they got their vehicle, Crowley planned to put some protective miracles over it, to make sure they weren’t followed. He knew how afraid the angel was, and he would do whatever he needed to make him feel safe. _Anything_. He would…

Crowley suddenly became aware that the small old man was talking. In front of the pair, he was motioning excitedly to a sort of pop-up camper. The vehicle, if you could even call it that, was supported by concrete blocks and was held together with poorly-welded plates, duct tape and a shit-ton of luck. There was no way that he would be caught dead driving something like that, and Crowley wasn’t sure how to tell the man that no amount of help, mechanical or miraculous, would fix the thing. Aziraphale, luckily, had him covered.

“It’s ok, but I think we were looking for something a little more… spacious. I don’t want to be a bother, but do you have anything a bit larger?”

“Oh, for sure!” the older man exclaimed, pulling Aziraphale along by his sleeve, obviously excited to show off more of his collection. Crowley began to follow, hopeful that the next showing would at least pass as something that wasn’t in violation of multiple road safety laws, but saw something out of the corner of his eye which caused him to stop. Tucked between an old Trans Am and what appeared to be a partially-assembled piece of farm equipment, covered in part by a tarp which flapped lightly in the breeze, was an old van. Had it not been for its notable paint job, he would have walked right past. Painted a shade of burnt orange, similar to the demon’s own hair color, the vehicle looked as if it hadn’t been touched in years, possibly since the 60’s when it appeared to have been built. However, something about it drew the demon closer. The front passenger window was smashed in, and the tires were flat, but it was nonetheless beautiful. Placing his hand on the exterior, Crowley was immediately filled with a sense of love. He knew nothing about the van, but could tell that it had once been cared for deeply and knew right away that it was perfect.

“Excuse me,” Crowley called after the man and the angel, still walking away. The two turned back to face him. “What about this one?”

As Aziraphale approached to get a closer look, the dealer exclaimed, “Ah! That old thing. Someone dropped it off here a couple months back after the owner, Aaron something-or-another, passed away. It’s a shame, really, that nobody in the family wanted it. With a bit of work it could be quite beautiful! I’m sorry that I haven’t gotten around to cleaning it out yet. I’ve been busy with other things, and frankly with that busted window and such, I honestly thought nobody would be interested.”

Crowley caught Aziraphale’s eyes as he motioned for him to step up to the van. At first, the angel seemed a little taken off-guard by the vehicles obtrusiveness, but as he placed his hand next to Crowley’s his face broke into a smile. It was clear that he could also feel the love radiating off of the old van, and as they caught one another’s gazes, a mutual consensus was reached.

“It’s wonderful!” The angel exclaimed, turning to the dealer. “We’ll take it, right Anthony?”

“Of course!” Crowley agreed, not even taking his eyes off of the van.

“Wonderful, I’ll run inside and get you men the paperwork. I had it listed at retail value, but since I still haven’t gotten around to cleaning ‘er up, I’ll knock a few hundred off.” The dealer, upon receiving an appreciative nod from both men, turned back towards the barn.

As soon as he was out of earshot, the angel piped up, “It’s perfect Crowley! I know it needs some work, but the miracles will be simple enough. It feel so, so…” Aziraphale trailed off, staring at the van.

“Loved?” Chimed in Crowley with a bit of a smirk. “Honestly, angel, judging by the way you talk about my Bentley, I’m surprised you could have such strong feelings for an automobile.”

The angel laughed and shoved Crowley playfully. “I have nothing against the Bentley, it’s your driving I’m concerned about. Frankly I’m glad we’re traveling outside of the city where you’re less likely to hit any poor pedestrians.

Crowley laughed. “You’re right though, angel. This van was definitely loved. I wonder by whom?” As soon as Crowley began to speculate, the older man returned with a stack of paperwork and some keys.

“Take a look inside, if you’d like. I’ll just start filling this out for you.” The man tossed Crowley the keys, who ceremoniously passed them to Aziraphale who giggled and opened the door. Crowley followed him inside and was about to make a snarky comment, when he stopped dead in his tracks.

On the roof was a map of the United States, yellowed with age but still legible. From the rear-view mirror hung a string of beads, which sparkled in the afternoon sun streaming through the dusty windows. On the floor behind the two seats were a couple of ragged old blankets thrown haphazardly on a mattress, and the van smelt musty, like stale coffee and something else he couldn’t place. None of this, however, is what caught Crowley’s eye. Leaning past the angel to get a better look, Crowley realized that every available surface was covered in Polaroid photographs, some in color, some just black in white. There had to have been hundreds of them, pinned up everywhere. They depicted landscapes, buildings, trees, but more than anything else, they depicted two people. Picking up one off of the dashboard, Crowley looked down into the smiling face of a young man, blond and a little ragged, with his arm around a stunning girl in a tank top and shorts. Behind the, was what Crowley assumed was the ocean, glimmering even after all these years. Flipping it over, Crowley noticed a caption that read “Me and Aaron in Santa Monica, 1967.”

Crowley stared at the photo, full of emotions that he couldn’t put into words. Luckily, Aziraphale was able to say it for him. Turning to the demon with tears in his eyes, the angel murmured. “They loved this van, Crowley. They loved each other. Oh, I can just feel them. They had so many good times here, went so many places. It’s perfect, my dear. Perfect.”

…

Watching the man retreat back inside the barn, a still teary-eyed Aziraphale turned to the demon, who was tucking their newly-acquired title into his jacket pocket. He had a rather stoic look on his face, but Aziraphale could tell he was thinking the same thing – this van had been loved, and there was no better vehicle in the world for the trip they were about to embark on.

Unsure even where to start regarding the wave of emotions both felt when first reaching the van, Aziraphale turned to the broken window. Snapping his fingers, the pieces of glass flew back into the frame, which polished itself clean. Looking at Crowley, he smiled.

“I think we should give this a bit of a clean before we take off, yeah?”

“Oh, for sure.” Agreed the demon, breaking away from the photo he held to glance around the van. With a snap of his own slender fingers, bits of trash removed themselves from the floors, and the musty smell faded considerably. “Much better.”

The pair looked at the photos, and both agreed without a word passing between them that they weren’t going anywhere. They were part of the van.

Sitting down in the driver’s seat, Crowley turned over the engine which started immediately, no doubt due to a miracle the demon had likely performed. Throwing it into reverse, Crowley pulled out of the lot as Aziraphale clicked his seatbelt into place. As they made their way onto the highway (with only a bit of panicked screaming as Crowley forgot about the “bloody Americans and their stupid driving-on-the-wrong-side-of-the-road”), Aziraphale began to examine the map that hung over their heads. America was huge, way larger than any of the European countries the angel had spent most of his life on earth, and he was overwhelmed by the options they had at their disposal.

As if the demon had read his mind, Crowley turned to Aziraphale. “Where to, angel? We can go anywhere. Just name it.”

Aziraphale was quiet for a few minutes. He knew that it wasn’t a huge deal where they went – they both had the power to travel nearly instantaneously – but it was more about the drive itself. Although they had only been on the road for a few minutes, Aziraphale thought he began to understand why humans spent their time on this. It was new, it was freeing, it was… terrifying. The angel thought about the book he had been reading earlier, contemplating how Marlow must have felt, traveling into the dark unknown. That was what they were doing, weren’t they? Aziraphale didn’t know his fate, no more than the man next to him. It was scary, it was overwhelming, it was… it was beautiful. Aziraphale’s thoughts shifted to the American pioneers who too traveled into the unknown in search of opportunities. Working their way across the Rockies toward the Pacific, Aziraphale suddenly understood.

“West.” He declared. “Drive west.”

Crowley murmured some sort of agreement, obviously not too picky about where they were headed. Aziraphale leaned back and closed his eyes. He could still feel the love radiating from the van, and felt at peace for the first time in weeks. He hoped, with a smile, that the two of them could add to the love that the van carried with it, all these years later.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry all of this is so cheesy - i'm just projecting hard.

Before Aziraphale even opened his eyes, he knew the sun was starting to set. Having just awoken from a deep sleep, the light flickered through his eyelids, indicating that they were driving through the forest. Straightening himself up, the angel opened his eyes and almost gasped. The van was hurtling down a curving road with towering pines on either side. The sun, as he had suspected, was setting and the sky was set ablaze by the orange light, flashing like fire through the patches of branches above. Amongst the trees, deep into the woods, the foliage faded away in an unending swatch of dark pines. The whole area was larger than anything in London, or anywhere in England for that matter.

Aziraphale settled back in his seat and continued to watch the trees flash past them. He knew that America was huge, but the expanse of towering pines was almost overwhelmingly large. So big, in fact, that Aziraphale felt almost as if he were wrapped in something warm and loving, completely in the safety of his surroundings. All of this was by design, of course, but it was all so perfect, so beyond whatever the bureaucracy could lay their hands on. It was ineffable.

The angel suspected that Crowley, despite his relative silence about his intentions for this trip, had such ideas in mind when deciding on the locale for their escape. Aziraphale almost turned to the demon to tell him just how beautiful it was when he suddenly became aware that the Crowley was singing softly to himself. He had never before heard the demon sing, and suspected that he was not aware the angel was awake and could hear him. Out of respect and lingering tiredness, Aziraphale sat back and savored the demon’s smooth, emotive voice which, despite cracking occasionally, could not be described as anything other than beautiful.

_Thought of you as my mountaintop  
Thought of you as my peak  
Thought of you as everything  
I've had, but couldn't keep  
I've had, but couldn't keep_

_Linger on your pale blue eyes  
Linger on your pale blue eyes_

It was stunning, Aziraphale thought, as he began to drift off once again. There was so much love in the air, in the forest, and it was beautiful. At times the angel had forgotten just how spectacular the earth was. Of course, he always loved it – that was part of the job description. But, at times like this, Aziraphale would feel a pang of selfish longing to be in it, to be part of it. He knew he was not supposed to get too attached; he wasn’t supposed to love anything as much as Her. Yet, as the setting sun continued to flicker through the trees and Crowley’s soft voice floated through the air, Aziraphale couldn’t help but long for that deep indulgence.

...

Shifting the van into park, Crowley sighed and turned to look out the window. He had been paying attention to the road, of course, but the difficult task of operating a vehicle so different from his own had tied up most of his thoughts and only now, as they sat in the empty parking lot, could he appreciate his surroundings. The tall trees of the Oregon forests had given way to the rocky coast of the Pacific, and below their van, waves crashed hard onto the sand.

The sun had basically set, Crowley noted with a bit of annoyance, and it was near impossible to see.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley asked softly, unsure whether or not the angel was still napping. No response. He had been in and out of sleep, and Crowley frankly couldn’t blame him for his exhaustion – despite what he said, the stress of Heaven’s judgment had been getting to him and it was evident by the tired creases in his usually perky face.

Frowning slightly, Crowley reached out in the dim light to grab Aziraphale’s arm. “Angel,” he whispered. “We’re here.” With a slight indistinguishable murmur, the figure stirred in the seat and, turning to Crowley, locked sleepy eyes with him in the twilight. The demon was suddenly struck with a feeling of… attraction? No, he thought quickly. He wasn’t attracted to the angel. The sudden feeling was purer than that. It was love, of sorts. Looking down into the pale blue eyes, Crowley wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around the creature, to hold him and protect him, to just be with him.

However, before he could even process his feelings, Aziraphale sat up and smoothed his rumpled jacket. Smiling he said, “Oh, I’m sorry my dear, I haven’t been very good company on the drive.”

“It’s ok,” Crowley laughed, pleased but secretly a little sad the moment of intimacy had been broken, “You were tired. I’ve decided this would be a good spot to stop for the evening.”

Aziraphale murmured in agreement as the both exited the van and were suddenly hit with a wave of salty sea air. Crowley had parked the van in a small turnout off of highway 101 which, despite the sound of rushing traffic behind them, felt oddly isolated. The waves which continued to crash just outside of his vision made Crowley feel a sense of both peace and energy. The Pacific was enormous, and the demon, so used to the cramped spaces of Hell, was almost overwhelmed by its power. He wanted to say something to the angel, but his breath caught in his throat and he realized that nothing he could say could truly express what he was feeling. The emotions were beyond anything he could verbalize and, standing there facing the wind, Crowley felt… pure. That was the best way to describe it. He no longer cared about his side, or the Non-pocolypse, or even his corporation. All he cared about was giving himself up to that power. That love. It was ineff…

Crowley was suddenly snapped out of his trance as he felt something brush his hand. Looking to his right, he saw Aziraphale was also staring out into the void, but had reached out blindly and clasped the demon’s hand in his own. Breaking his eyes away, Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley and, as an unspoken word passed between them, Crowley squeezed the angel’s hand as the two made their way down a small, winding path to the beach.

…

The two had barely spoken to one another in the last hour. The angel had miracled a blanket for the pair to sit on, and Crowley had added his own touch by springing forth a warm fire in front of them. The two were no longer holding hands, to Crowley’s slight disappointment, but they still remained close as they watched the sprawling ocean spread out before them.

The warm fire and the crashing rhythm of the waves, however, was making Crowley overwhelmingly tired and after a while he stood up and stretched his long legs which had begun to grow cramped. Snapping his fingers, his dressy trousers and jacket were replaced with a button-up and a more comfortable pair of pants. He could, of course, have changed into his favorite black silk pajamas, but something about that idea felt a bit too childish. It was a trip, not a bloody slumber party.

Looking over at Aziraphale, Crowley realized that he was just as tired. Despite his nap, the circles under his eyes revealed that the angel was still exhausted. Smiling, he too stood up and miracled himself into a baggy sweater, which Crowley admitted to himself with a slight twinge of embarrassment, looked rather good on the angel. Still without exchanging words, the two walked back up to the van.

The walk was quiet, and Crowley could feel his eyelids growing heavy. He wanted nothing more than a good night’s sleep. However, reaching the back door, the two stopped in their tracks.

“Uh…” Crowley started tentatively. “Do you think we should get rid of this mattress? I’m not quite sure… where it’s been.”

“Oh, yes, that would probably be in everyone’s best interest.” Aziraphale laughed, snapping his fingers. The grimy old bed was replaced with a pillowy-looking mat of sorts covered in a duvet in the angel’s trademark tartan.

“Well that fixes that. Now…” the demon trailed off, suddenly aware of the issue that had been on the back of his mind, but that he had not addressed fully until this moment. It wasn’t that he hadn’t realized what sleeping in such a van would entail – he knew that they’d be in close quarters when he first hatched his plan. Yet, Crowley realized nervously, there was absolutely nothing suggesting that the two should share the bed. Considering how emotional it had been when the two had simply held hands, Crowley didn’t want to get into the complexities of sharing a bed with his… friend.

Thinking quickly, Crowley came up with a solution.“It’s a pretty small bed. You seem much more tired than I am, how about you take it? I can sleep up front.”

The angel was silent and stared longingly at the warm bed in front of him. However, he didn’t move.

“If you’re worried about making me sleep in the seat, don’t be. I can sleep pretty much anywhere: walls, ceilings, you name it. I fell asleep in a sewer once, that was fun.”

The angel’s face broke into a small smile as he began to slip his shoes off and climb into the bed, tentatively pulling the blankets around him. Taking this as an invitation to rest as well, Crowley made his way to the driver’s seat.

“Goodnight, Crowley.” Came a soft voice from the floor behind him.

“Goodnight, angel.” Crowley replied, his heavy eyelids closing against his will before he could even remove his own shoes. Vaguely, he thought as he began to drift off, he couldn’t help but wonder (and maybe hope) if the angel’s hesitation to take the bed himself was a bit more complicated than it seemed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all fun and games 'till Aziraphale overthinks the hand-holding, and Crowley has a not-so-subtle Gay Panic™️ when they begin to listen to "Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little on the shorter side, but we get to see some more of everyone's favorite idiots being, well, idiots. I promise the next chapter will be a bit longer and will actually have some really sweet stuff.

The waves continued to crash, although slightly less violently than before. Or, thought the angel standing on the beach facing the oncoming salty air, the pounding last night had just been his own heart. Arriving at the ocean had been spectacular. In all his millennia on earth, Aziraphale had never once been to the ocean. Sure, he had seen it before, even swimming in the English Channel on one memorable occasion, but that was different. That bit of polluted water was nothing like the vast open space in front of him. Seeing it had absolutely taken his breath away, unlike anything in nature ever had before. Granted, the angel preferred to the comfort of the indoors and the companionship of a good book, a nice meal, and occasionally a certain demon, and had never much considered his surroundings. But still...

However, something was tugging at the back of his mind. It had been ever since he had woken up in the back of the van a bit earlier to the sounds of the ocean, and of Crowley snoring softly in the seat. He had gotten up and walked down to the beach, attempting to clear his head which was foggy from the stress of traveling the day before. He had slept more in the last 24 hours than he probably had in the last decade combined, and because of this haziness Aziraphale had taken a moment to notice the blanket, damp from the ocean spray.

Suddenly, it all came back to him. The previous night, in the midst of watching the ocean, Aziraphale had grabbed Crowley’s hand. The act had been impulsive, and at the time the angel had only done it to ground himself. The weight of the world, the weight of heaven, was overwhelming and in the midst of the storm Aziraphale had needed nothing more than to feel that he was still on the earth, still breathing. Now, having slept it off, Aziraphale was feeling much more grounded, but something was still bothering him. Glancing back down at the blanket, the angel admitted to himself that his pounding heart had been not solely because of the energy he felt from the ocean. At first, it had of course, but Crowley had held onto his hand tight for what was possibly the first time in Aziraphale’s (very long) life. It was beyond the slight touches the pair had shared over the millennia – touches that had been brief and informal. This was different. It was a simple gesture, and yet it had sent a course of electricity up the angel’s arm. The squeeze Crowley had given his hand…

A sudden squeal of rubber on concrete behind him snapped Aziraphale out of his reverence. Whipping around, the angel searched for the source of the noise. Oh. It came from the highway – someone had just applied their brakes hard. He continued listening, but didn’t hear anything else. That was good, nobody had been hurt. Still, the sound had snapped him out of his trance, and looking back at the van Aziraphale realized the door was open – Crowley was awake. Sighing, Aziraphale scooped up the blanket, gave it a good shake, and made his way back up to the van. He didn’t exactly want to face Crowley – the hand holding had been reciprocated and the demon had most likely thought little of it. But still, Aziraphale wasn’t sure what he’d do if Crowley brought it up.

Luckily, Aziraphale needn’t have worried. When he had reached the van, Crowley was squatting on the ground, having abandoned his pajamas in favor of a pair of his overly-tight trousers and a grey button-up, and was tending to a small fire. Scowling, Crowley looked up from his work, his face softening when he locked eyes with the angel.

“Mornin’ angel,” Crowley smiled, “I’m making some tea. Want some?”

What Crowley was making, thought Aziraphale with a smirk, was a mess. The kettle, perched precariously on a small metal rack above the flames, looked as if it had seen better days, and the water had been splashed everywhere. Crowley was poking at the flames with a stick, and was balancing two teacups in his free hand.

“Crowley, dear, I appreciate it but wouldn’t it be easier to just miracle some tea? All of this seems a bit, you know, excessive.”

Crowley’s cheeks turned a bit pink as he looked back down at the flames. “Yeah, but… I thought since we’d be camping like humans and all, we might as well cook like them too.” The demon seemed to be purposely avoiding Aziraphale’s eyes.

Aziraphale, despite himself, let out a chuckle. “Oh, I like that idea. It’s very poetic of you, you know. To truly live on earth before… you know. While we can.”

Crowley, still blushing, gave Aziraphale a stern look, as if instructing him to forget about the issue that had brought them halfway across the world in the first place. Aziraphale understood and, without another word on the topic of heaven, helped Crowley finish the tea. All in all, they only needed to preform one miracle when Crowley had caught his sleeve on fire and, with the smell of burnt cotton still in the air, the pair sat down on the rear bumper of the van sipping their tea.

“You know, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, breaking the peaceful silence after a few moments, “I don’t really have much experience with stuff like that. You know, cooking and whatnot. If you couldn’t tell.” The demon waved his newly-repaired sleeve in Aziraphale’s face, who laughed.

“Oh, I may have noticed a bit, dear.” Aziraphale laughed, rolling his eyes. “It’s ok though. You’ll learn. Soon you’ll be able to make really good tea!”

“Oi, what’s wrong with my tea?!?”

The angel smiled. “Oh, it’s not bad or anything, it’s just that tea is a bit of an art form. You know, you have to have the water at just the right temperature for whatever blend you’re using, and then you need to decide how long you should brew it for. Not to mention, of course, the issue of whether or not you should leave the leaves in while you drink it. I think that leaving it in for too long is a crime, but those Americans seem to think it’s perfectly acceptable. I guess, to an extent, it’s a matter of preference, but…”

Aziraphale was cut off by a dramatically exasperated sigh from the demon who had flung his body down onto the mattress in a show of over-the-top annoyance and was smirking up at the angel. “Angel, please, it’s just tea. As long as it tastes ok, I don’t really care, ya know?”

Aziraphale laughed, slightly embarrassed he had gone on like that. He knew, however, the demon didn’t _really _mind the angel’s tangents, he was just a drama queen. “The tea’s good, my dear boy. Don’t you worry your little head over it.” Aziraphale took another sip and admitted to himself that it was one of the better cups of tea had enjoyed, which had very little to do with the temperature at which it had been steeped at.

…

Having packed up their few belongings (they were celestial beings, so they weren’t weighed down with frivolous things such as clothing and toiletries), the pair was back on the road. Aziraphale was once again looking out the window, watching the trees flash past them. Crowley, seeming much more alert than the day before, had miracled some sort of contraption to appear on the dashboard. A compact disc player, Aziraphale thought with a grin. He knew that one. Currently, the song playing was one that the angel had heard before but which he didn’t know the name to. Crowley was humming along, evidently too self-conscious to sing again, but Aziraphale was still happy to see him pleased.

After a moment, the song ended. “I like that one, Crowley. It’s most definitely not Bebop. Who’s the composer?”

The demon burst out into a laugh, before turning to Aziraphale, his mouth agape. “Do you mean to tell me, angel, that you don’t know ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’? Satan, everyone knows that one! It’s a bloody classic!”

Aziraphale prickled, but appreciated the demon’s snide humor. Playing along, he said, “Well, dear, if you haven’t noticed, my music taste is less, well, _loud, _than yours. Now, if you won’t mind enlightening me, who is the composer?”

“Well, it’s Queen of course! I’m shocked, angel. You’d think after all the time I spent hanging around Freddie in the 70’s, you’d remember them!”

Aziraphale contemplated for a moment. “Yes, I seem to remember you hanging around with some shaggy-haired man for a while there. Was he the one with the tight pants?”

Crowley laughed so hard that the van swerved alarmingly before the demon was able to control himself and get the vehicle back on the road. “Yep, that was Freddie. Man, I miss him. Always made the best cocktails, too. Their music is good though, if its ok with you can I play you some more?”

Aziraphale smiled, suddenly feeling warm. Crowley seemed to love his music so much, and the fact that he was sharing it with him made him feel, well, special. He knew that Crowley wasn’t one to go around wearing his heart (or, in this case, love for 70’s rock) on his sleeve, so the fact that he trusted the angel with it made him smile. Sitting back, Aziraphale continued looking out the window as Crowley put a new disc in the player. Aziraphale was a little ashamed to admit that he didn’t love the music all that much – it just wasn’t really his thing – but he would never tell Crowley that. The music comforted Aziraphale too, but because watching the demon’s face light up as he hummed along was enough to make him feel at peace.

After a song ended (Aziraphale hadn’t paid attention to which one, it was something about a white man), a beautifully soft piano began to play. Much to Aziraphale’s surprise, however, Crowley suddenly grew tense, shooting a warning look at the CD player. Before Aziraphale could ask him what was going on, Crowley hit the power button roughly and stared intently at the road, as if trying to pretend the angel wasn’t there.

“Crowley, what on earth was all that about?” Aziraphale inquired, confused as to his companion’s sudden agitation.

“Ngk.” Was all that Crowley said for a few moments. Aziraphale didn’t want to press him, but he was concerned for the demon. Luckily, after a few moments, Crowley sighed and turned to the angel, slightly red in the face. “Sorry, it’s just that that song reminds me of Freddie, that’s all. We became pretty close for a bit there, and I sorta helped him write that one. And… I miss him. Sorry.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Oh, it’s ok. You just had me worried there, dear. I’m sorry you miss him, I know how hard it is. I’ve too become close with some humans over the years. It’s always hard, I know.” Aziraphale had turned to face Crowley, who was still flushed. Crowley flashed him a small smile.

“Yeah. Yeah, I miss him. Would it be ok if I played something else?”

“Of course.” Aziraphale soothed, turning to the CD player. “How ‘bout we listen to that ‘Underground Velvet’ one, or whatever it was. You know, the bebop.”

Crowley chuckled and retrieved the CD. As the demon went to switch the discs, Aziraphale briefly caught the name of the song Crowley had reacted so poorly to scrolling across the display. “Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy.” Huh, the angel had never heard that one.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is forced to remember an embarrassing secret which makes him worry that Aziraphale will never love him. The angel (or at least the angel's subconscious), however, has different plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's also pretty fluffy but, if you haven't figured it out yet from the previous chapters, that's kinda the whole thing. 
> 
> Within the next couple of chapters, there will be some mild angst, but don't worry, this will be back to it's diabetes-inducing fluffiness soon enough.

Crowley couldn’t believe what an idiot he was. He should have known that song was coming up, and could have skipped it. Satan, it would have even been fine if it just played acknowledging it, but _nooooo_, Crowley had to go into full panic mode and slam the power button, drawing way more attention to himself than he had anticipated. He was aware his face was still red as he put the Velvet Underground CD in. He was glad he was able to pass off his emotions as being for Freddie, but he felt bad about it. He truly did miss the man, but that was not the sudden crack in his emotional wall.

Because, Crowley thought with a wave of sinking embarrassment, it wasn’t exactly a lie that he had helped with that song. He didn’t have a hand in writing it – frankly if he did he would have made it unbearable to listen to so that nobody would ever hear it – rather, he inspired it. Despite trying his best to repress the memories, the events of that one evening decades before came rushing back as they tended to do at inconvenient times. He and Freddie and the rest of the band had all been out for the evening and, after Brian, John, and Roger had left, the two went back to Freddie’s place in downtown London. Usually, the two just hung around, drinking and chatting and occasionally, if the demon was drunk enough, singing. However, that night was different and Crowley wished, a thousand times over, that he had just sobered himself up, got a cab, and went home. However, that wasn’t what happened. Crowley was absolutely _plastered_ and, in a haze of drunken tears, had laid on Freddie’s couch and admitted something to Freddie that he had never even fully admitted to himself. Something that, despite all of his better judgement, he knew to be true: he loved the angel. He was _in love _with him.

The following morning, waking up in a twisted, aching mess in the musician’s parlor, Crowley was mortified. As much as he hated to do it, he seriously considered wiping Freddie’s memory. The demon was beyond ashamed for his feelings, and he couldn’t let some human know that they existed. Maybe he’d get lucky and Freddie would have been too drunk to remember. He had managed to get up and was about to find the man when he heard soft piano notes floating in from the next room. Going in to investigate, he had stopped dead in his tracks. Freddie was playing the piano like usual, but what shook Crowley to his core was what he was singing. His deep voice flowed beautifully as he sang:

_I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things_

_We can do the tango just for two_

_I can serenade and gently play on your heartstrings_

_Be your Valentino, just for you_

_Ooh love, ooh lover boy_

_What’re you doing tonight, hey boy!_

_Set my alarm, turn on my charm_

_That’s because I’m a good old-fashioned lover boy!_

Crowley was trembling. Not only had he remembered his sappy confessions from the night before, he had written a bloody song about it? He felt that he could discorporate on the spot. He nearly lunged forward, ready to blindly fight the musician, when Freddie noticed the demon’s figure in the doorway and smiled.

“Good morning, Anthony! I was thinking about what you said last night, you know, about your ‘angel’ and I just had to write a song about it! You seem to love him so much. It’s touching, really, it truly is, how you’d be willing to do anything for him.”

“No, I don’t! I wont!” Crowley had snarled. He wanted to beat the man, then beat himself. Fuck, maybe he should take another century-long nap. “I…” he had started, but Freddie’s voice interrupted him again:

_Dining at the Ritz, we’ll meet at nine precisely _

_I will pay the bill, you taste the wine_

_Driving back in style in my saloon will do quite nicely_

_Just take me back to yours-_

“For God’s sake, Mercury! Shut up!”

Mercury, however, had not shut up and, well, the rest was history. The song was innocuous enough without context, but Crowley knew. He _knew_. It was a reminder of the first time he had admitted what he had repressed for millennia.

Luckily, thank God or Satan or whatever other power there was to thank, Aziraphale didn’t know. Glancing over for the first time in a few minutes, he saw that the angel was simply staring out the window, oblivious to the demonic crisis occurring only feet away. He wanted to disappear, to get wasted and never, ever think about his _feelings _again. However, he knew he had to do the right thing.

“Hey, angel,” he started, trying to sound nonchalant, “Where should we head? I’ve just been driving east, sorta, but I don’t really have a destination in mind.”

Turning from the window, Aziraphale smiled (melting Crowley’s heart just a little in the process – he was adorably oblivious) and chuckled. “Well, my dear boy, I had an idea. It might be a little silly, and if you think it’s a stupid idea I would fully understand, but…”

“Tell me, angel.”

“Well,” Aziraphale continued, “I was looking at all these lovely photos and, well, they seem so happy. They went to so many beautiful places, so I was wondering if we could travel to some of them ourselves?”

Crowley smiled, and hoped the angel couldn’t feel the waves of love coming off of him. Although Crowley didn’t consider himself to be nearly as sappy or sentimental as Aziraphale, he knew just how much love was in this van and seeing the angel so excited about it made him willing to go anywhere. This was Aziraphale’s trip, and as embarrassing as it was, Freddie was right. He would do anything for his angel.

“That sounds like a brilliant idea! Where should we go?”

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, eyes scanning over the photos. He had hunched his body slightly, to see them, and Crowley thought he looked as if he were back in his beloved shop. His fingers ran over each of the photos, delicately touching each as he did with his collection of books. Every few seconds, he would pause on one and examine it more closely, each time making a gentle humming sound and pinning them back up. Crowley suddenly realized that he was not watching the road, and was glad the angel was so engrossed in his task that he had not been able to comment on the demon’s reckless driving habits. Finally, Aziraphale’s slender fingers paused on one, and his face broke into a smile.

“Can we go here, Crowley? The description on the back says ‘Crater Lake National Park’.”

Smiling, Crowley took the photo from the angel’s outstretched hand. The small, faded polaroid showed a deep blue lake, surrounded by lush forests. “If you can find it on the map, we can go there Angel.”

Aziraphale looked up at the faded map, fixated by his task, and Crowley couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit guilty. He had miracled a GPS into the old van, but watching Aziraphale this absorbed was much more enjoyable.

…

“JESUS, ANGEL, COULD YOU BE A BIT MORE CAREFUL WITH THAT?”

The two had set up camp on the shore of Crater Lake (in an area a giant orange van should not be able to be parked, and yet it was) and were settling in for the evening. It was starting to grow dark, and even Crowley had to admit that the Oregon winds were a bit chilly. Thus, when he suggested the idea that they build another fire, the angel lit up. What Crowley had not expected, however, was for the Guardian of the Eastern Gate to pull out his signature weapon and light a nearby tree on fire.

“Sorry, dear, I just got a bit carried away.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers to corral the flames to the pile of kindling that Crowley had set up. “I just had a brilliant idea!”

“Well if it's anything like that last idea, I'm not sure I'm interested.” Crowley grumbled. He’d had more than enough fire for one lifetime.

Aziraphale didn't hear him, or at least pretended not to. “We should make s’mores! Oh, I’ve always wanted to do that!”

“What the bloody hell is a ‘s’more’?” The demon asked, unsure what the angel was talking about, let alone why he was so happy about it.

So, the angel showed him. Crowley was skeptical at first – he was never much one to partake in eating, let alone eat the weird white squishy things the angel had miracled into existence, but as soon as he took a bit he understood just why the angel was so excited.

“Do you like it, dear?” Aziraphale asked expectantly, eyes glinting in the firelight. Crowley sat across from him on a log, and watched as the angel toasted his own marshmallow above the flames. “Ah loik it. ’S gud, ahgel” Crowley mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate. Aziraphale laughed, and Crowley shot him a scathing look that quickly turned into a matching grin as the two of them continued to laugh as the sparks flew high into the night sky.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours. It probably was, Crowley reflected, but he didn’t have a good sense of time. They talked about nonsense, really. Crowley was careful to not let the conversation touch the topics of Heaven and Hell, but it was not difficult. The angel readily went on about the latest books he had collected, and what he was planning on getting Adam for his next birthday, and many other things. Crowley was half listening. He was somewhat interested in what Aziraphale had to say, but as the angel went on he felt his eyelids growing heavier and heavier. Over the years, the demon had become more and more accustomed to sleeping, and he actually began to become tired when he didn’t which was odd for a celestial being. He didn’t want to be rude, but as the angel began yet another story about a customer whom he had shooed out of the shop for attempting to buy his treasured Dickens collection, Crowley’s elbow slipped off of his leg where it was resting and he almost fell, jolting upright as his eyes flashed open. He was hoping he had been nonchalant about it, but as straightened his shirt, he noticed that Aziraphale had stopped talking and was smiling at him.

“Tired, are you dear?” The angel asked sweetly, but with a twinkle in his eye that made Crowley know he had found the situation to be amusing. Bastard.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. All these years on earth, ya know. I’ve started sleeping a lot.” Crowley was a little embarrassed, but was too tired to care much.

“Yes, I’ve noticed. I’ve never been one to sleep much myself, but don’t let me stop you. Go on to bed, dear, I’ll be here reading my books.”

Crowley thought about protesting for a moment, wanting to continue their time together, but he knew he was too tired. Giving Aziraphale a smile, Crowley stood up and stretched his legs, before making his way to the van. It was only a dozen yards or so away, but by the time the demon had reached it, he felt like he had walked for miles. It was for this reason that Crowley, without giving it a second thought, collapsed onto the mattress in the back and was asleep in seconds.

…

Crowley opened his eyes to the slightest rays of sunshine peaking in through the windows. It was still pretty dark, but he could tell he had been asleep for most of the night. Crowley rolled over, ready to get at least a couple more hours of shut-eye, when something struck him. He _rolled over_. Meaning he was _laying down_. Meaning that he had unwittingly fallen asleep on the bed. Crowley groaned softly, realizing his folly. He had taken the angel’s bed, and probably had forced him to sleep in the uncomfortable seat, or worse, prevented him from sleeping entirely. The poor angel, despite what he claimed about his sleeping habits (or lack thereof), _was_ tired and Crowley felt like a dick for taking the bed.

He began to sit up, ready to find Aziraphale and _gently_ force him to sleep on the mattress, when his arm struck something. Something next to him. Something warm and soft and breathing. For a moment, Crowley didn’t quite comprehend what he was seeing as he froze, half-sitting-half-laying on the mattress. There, under the tartan covers with him, was Aziraphale, snoring softly and seemingly unperturbed by the fact that the demon had just smacked him.

Crowley was lucky that he didn’t need oxygen, because he had stopped breathing. There, a foot or so away, was the angel, asleep with a peaceful look on his soft face that made Crowley tremble. It wasn’t that the sight in front of him was alien. Quite the contrary, as a matter of fact. Crowley had, on an admittedly less-than-occasional basis, dreamed of the angel being in bed with him. Not necessarily in a sexual way (_that_ was something Crowley would never admit to), but just in a way that allowed them to be close. All the years that passed between their encounters were agony for the demon, and as much as he hated admitting it to himself, being this close to the sleeping angel was something that filled Crowley with an immense happiness.

Still. Crowley knew that Aziraphale had just fallen asleep on the only bed available, and as far as Crowley knew Aziraphale couldn’t care less that he was there with him. It wasn’t that the angel didn’t care for the demon – after recent events, that was something Crowley was sure of – it was that in all their millennia together, Aziraphale had almost never touched him. Well, he had the night before as they stared at the ocean, but that couldn’t have meant anything, right? The angel just didn’t show his affection in that way. There was probably no deeper meaning behind the angel’s actions, and Crowley, despite every bone in his body protesting, knew he should probably just go sleep in the driver’s seat.

Crowley began to slide the covers off of him gently, and was about to fold them over Aziraphale’s figure, when the unthinkable happened. The angel, still sleeping, had turned over and rested his arm on Crowley’s torso, gently pulling him closer. Crowley didn’t know what to do. The angel wasn’t doing this on purpose, was he? He was asleep, and the action had to be involuntary. Still… Crowley didn’t want to get up. What if he woke the angel up in the process? It would be hard to explain why he was slithering out of his grasp. And, feeling the angel’s soft hand wrapped around his slender hip, Crowley had to admit to himself that he didn’t really _want_ to leave. The demon didn’t move a muscle; he just sat there watching Aziraphale and trying to decide that to do.

Luckily, he didn’t have to make a decision. Aziraphale murmured slightly with a slight smile playing across his face and, as if he had done it a thousand times before, wrapped his arm more tightly around Crowley and pulled him closer. Crowley was in utter shock. Here he was, wrapped in the angel’s arms like he had imagined a million times before. Except, Crowley thought as he involuntarily settled in closer, it was a million times better. Where the angel’s arm was wrapped around him, his skin felt warm and almost tingly and Crowley couldn’t help but sigh. Never before had Crowley been touched in this manner, so lovingly and gently, and he wasn’t sure he could take it. None of his dreams could have compared to this. He felt as if he were right where he belonged, as if he had come home to a place he had only dreamed about.

Breathing in Aziraphale’s smell of must and caramel and leather which Crowley had savored over the years, he let his eyes fall shut. He knew that in the morning the angel would wake up and realize what had happened, and they would probably never speak of it again. But that wasn’t for a few hours. Now, Crowley couldn’t help but nuzzle his face into the pillow next to the angel’s beautiful curls, and give into temptation. He was a demon, after all. Temptation (and sleeping) was his specialty.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An explanation as to how Aziraphale ended up in the bed, and whether or not it was a huge mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, not only is this a lil bit of a cliffhanger, I probably won't be able to update this till next week. I guess I just like torturing y'all.

As Aziraphale watched Crowley’s retreating figure, he sighed. He knew he had been rambling and that the demon had barely gotten a word in edgewise, but their evening had been wonderful. Crowley’s reaction to making s’mores for the first time had been endearing, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but replay his laughter over and over in his mind. Aziraphale thought that he’d be perfectly content sitting with Crowley for the rest of eternity. However, he was aware that the demon had become accustomed to sleep, but was nevertheless a bit sad when he left him to his books. Aziraphale couldn’t judge though, as he imagined that his love of food was comparable to Crowley’s love of sleep.

Hearing the door to the van open, alerting Aziraphale that Crowley had made it to bed safe, he summoned his beat up old copy of _Heart of Darkness _and opened it to where he had last left off. However, after only a couple paragraphs, Aziraphale felt his mind beginning to wander into the deeper meaning behind the book. He knew that humans were capable of unspeakable evil – he had seen it and he had lived it. The things he had seen were despicable and brought Aziaphale to tears time and time again. He just couldn’t understand how they were okay with treating each other like that, and couldn’t help but resent them for how wicked they could be.

But he was an angel. Over the years, and especially in the preceding weeks with all the nasty business related to heaven, he was bombarded with reminders of his supposed Love. Every word that seemed to come out of the other angels mouths were about the importance of loving all of Her creations and being there for them and all that other “love thy neighbor” jazz. It wasn’t that Aziraphale didn’t love humans – he was predisposed to think the best about them but, over the years, he knew his faith was beginning to falter. The things he had seen: all of the disgustingly horrible ways they had come up with to hurt one another, all the genocides and the crusades and, goodness, it was too much. And they had the audacity to invoke Her name to attempt to justify it? Honestly, at times, despite his better judgement, Aziraphale couldn’t help but _hate _humans. He wanted to love them, he desperately did, but the more time passed, the worse of an angel he became. He wished he could have that unconditional love. He wished he could be like…

Like Crowley. Now _that _was ironic. Crowley was a demon, there was no doubt about that, and he played the part. The flashy looks, the temptations, the sin, it was all demonic. But it barely extended past that. His temptations were often rarely more than minor inconveniences, and Aziraphale even had to admit that some of the things he came up with during the Arrangement were more evil than anything Crowley had come up with. After all these millennia Crowley was still doing his best to be a good demon, but he was failing. Miserably. Behind that façade, Aziraphale knew that deep down Crowley didn’t want to hurt a fly.

Smirking, Aziaphale recalled a memorable moment a couple decades back. They had been in Crowley’s flat, drinking a wonderful bottle of Cabernet, when Crowley had begun discussing his plants. A little tipsy, the demon had begun berating one of them for not looking beautiful enough for the angel’s company and, swiping up the pot, strode to the kitchen. Out of Aziraphale’s sight, he heard the garbage disposal running and when Crowley sauntered back in, he had an evil glint in his eye. However, a few days later when Aziraphale had returned to the flat to pick up his hat that he had left behind, he paused at the entrance. There, planted neatly next to the concrete steps, was what was unmistakably the same plant that had supposedly met its end at the hands of the demon.

Goodness, Aziraphale couldn’t help but care for the demon. The demon, who hid behind layers of sarcasm, anger, and those ruddy sunglasses. The demon that couldn’t even kill a plant. The demon, who deep down, was one of the most caring beings the angel had ever met.

Settling back on his log, Aziraphale glanced up at the night sky over the dark lake in front of him. There were virtually no clouds, and the nearly full moon shone through the leaves of the trees like a heavenly spotlight. Beyond that, years and years away, were millions upon millions of stars, more than Aziraphale could ever know. And yet, out of all of it – all of earth and the sky and Alpha Centauri and Heaven and Hell, Crowley chose to be with him, sleeping only yards away in the van that he had bought just for the angel.

Aziraphale loved him. He was hesitant to say it, of course. All those years alone on earth, and the countless times he was in cold, oppressive Heaven, the angel couldn’t help but feel that he wasn’t really deserving of whatever Crowley made him feel. The angels supposedly loved him, but each one of their cold, calculating glares felt less and less safe, less and less cared for. Looking back over the centuries, Aziraphale admitted to himself that the best moments were the ones spent with Crowley. Even if they went decades between meetings, Aziraphale lived for those times.

Those feelings were just so strong that, pulling his eyes away from the night sky, he was hit with an overwhelming feeling of appreciativeness. Crowley, despite everything they had been through, was still there. Aziaphale was so utterly grateful that part of him wanted nothing more than to run over to him, wrap him in his arms, and let him know everything he had done for the angel. But, along with that feeling of gratitude was an unmistakable sinking feeling. All those years, Crowley had never outwardly seemed to express the same feelings the angel had for him. Aziraphale generally was the one coordinating meetings, he was the one who gave in and brought him the holy water, and he was the one who had suddenly grabbed his hand only 24 hours before. Aziraphale loved Crowley, but he wasn’t sure it was reciprocated, and that was the most painful part. Because for every time Crowley’s brash swagger got in the way of a touching moment, Aziraphale only wanted to be with him more. He wanted to hug him, and touch him, and be close to him. He wanted to tell him all these things, and more. He wanted to kiss…

God. Aziraphale was going to get himself all worked up. He was probably overthinking the entire situation. Crowley had decided to take him on this trip, and that was all he needed to know the demon loved him. The fact that it wasn’t in the same way that Aziaphale felt was irrelevant – it was the best he was ever going to get, and it was probably more than he deserved.

Sighing, Aziraphale stood up and stretched before extinguishing the fire and putting away the s’more supplies. He wasn’t exactly tired, but he knew he probably wasn’t going to read anymore and, with Crowley asleep, he didn’t have much to do for the next few hours. He decided that the best course of action would be to sleep for a bit, even if just to pass the time. Thus, when Aziraphale reached the van, he was a little surprised when his bed was occupied.

Tucked under his layers of tartan bedding, curled tightly with his copper hair in ruffled disarray, Crowley was soundly asleep. Aziaphale didn’t know what to make of this. He knew it was more likely than not that the demon, considering how tired he had been, had just collapsed on the nearest possible surface. That was what had probably happened. There was no point on dwelling on Aziraphale’s tiny, kindled hope that this was some sort of invitation. He was probably just setting himself up for disappointment. And yet…

Aziraphale thought back to the previous evening, when he had clasped the demon’s hand in his own. Not only had Crowley not pulled away, but he had given his hand a reassuring squeeze. Granted, that was a far cry from sharing the same bed, but it was something.

Still. Aziraphale knew what he had to do. Readying himself to sleep in the passenger’s seat, he began to close the door to the van when a soft noise came from inside. Aziraphale stopped in his tracks, unsure if he was imagining things. He inched the door back open, careful not to make any sound, as he peered in on the sleeping demon. Sure enough, Crowley was mumbling something in his sleep, something indiscernible. His face was all scrunched up, as if something were paining him, and as Aziraphale leaned closer he realized that he was muttering the word “No” over and over again, as if he were trying desperately to fight something and failing. Aziraphale was stunned. It was rare for him to see the demon in a state of such vulnerability, such pain, and his heart ached for the poor man.

Aziraphale decided that the best course of action would be to perform a minor miracle. Nothing much, he didn’t want to violate the demon, but just a quick trick to make sure his dreams were as pleasant as possible. Waving his hand over the demon’s sleeping body, he saw his facial features relax and his limbs grow less rigid as he sunk into the mattress. A small smile played across his face, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but to stare for a moment, in wonder. It was lucky that he did, though, because if he hadn’t Aziraphale might have missed the next word to come out of Crowley’s mouth. For a moment the angel thought he was imagining things. Surely, with Crowley suddenly having wonderful dreams, he had just hummed something, right? He must have. He was probably thinking about his plants, or his car, or some other thing that made him happy. But there it was again! His entire body growing warm and feeling as his heart were about to melt, Aziraphale discerned what the happily sleeping demon had murmured: “Aziaphale.”

The angel felt as if the world were crashing down around him. He was overreacting, to be sure, but he was in shock. Crowley, being at his happiest and most vulnerable, was thinking about him? Lord, it was almost too much. Aziraphale loved the demon more than he ever had before. Every angelic part of him wanted to climb on top of him, to hug him and kiss him and make sure he knew how loved he was. Inching closer, he made a choice. He knew that his fantasy wasn’t reasonable. Thinking about Aziraphale or not, he was pretty sure Crowley wouldn’t want to be woken by the man he had touched maybe four times in his entire existence smothering him. So, he decided on the next best option. Slipping his shoes off, Aziraphale softly climbed into the bed, careful to remain on his own side and to not touch the demon. He decided that being nearby was enough, and if Crowley wanted anything more, he could just ask for it.

…

It was for this reason that Aziraphale was speechless when he awoke well into the morning hours with _his_ arms wrapped around the demon’s still sleeping body. What had happened? Had he just hugged him in the night? He had promised himself to keep his distance, to not do anything too spontaneous or unwarranted and yet here he was with the demon in his embrace. Aziraphale was ashamed. His idea had been not very well thought through, to be sure.

Sighing, Aziraphale began to wiggle his arm out from under Crowley, trying his best to not wake him as he moved to the passenger’s seat where he would plan to have been the entire night. But as he pulled his arm away, the best-case scenario began to unfold in front of his eyes. Crowley, still asleep, had reached out and snuggled his angular body closer to the angel, pressing his face against his chest. Aziraphale couldn’t breathe. There, in front of him, was everything he had secretly desired for years. The sleeping demon was beautiful and as he burrowed deeper into Aziraphale, the angel felt as if he were floating. Crowley’s body was so warm against his own, and the gentle pressure from his outstretched arm against Aziraphale’s side was spectacular. He had never recalled being touched this lovingly before, and tears began to form behind his eyes. It was perfect. It was everything. It was… ending?

Crowley’s golden eyes, shut only moments before, looked up at Aziraphale with fear as he pulled his arm away as if he had been burned. He sat bolt upright, doing his best to scramble away from the angel as fast as he could.

Both stared for what could have been hours (although it was probably only a few seconds), before they both came to the same eloquent conclusion: “Oh, Fuck!”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our angel and demon are a bit confused, but they soon figure out that they want the same thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! I got y'all another chapter of whatever this fic is turning out to be! I promise that the next chapter will have some actual plot and possible angst, but for now its just a LOT of fluff.

He had fucked it up this time, hadn’t he? _Oh Fuck_. Crowley wasn’t sure what was going on – one moment he had been soundly asleep, having a wonderful dream about having dinner with Aziraphale, and next thing he knew he was wrapped around said angel in bed. And that wasn’t even the worst of it.

Aziraphale was looking down on him with a bit of a smirk, and as Crowley pressed himself up against the side of the van as if to try to escape, the angel laughed. He _laughed_. God… Satan… _SOMEBODY, _it was unfair. He was making fun of him! Crowley felt like he was the object of the angel’s impending ridicule. Didn’t it matter that he was the one cuddling Crowley, and now he had the nerve to make fun of him? He didn’t even know what to say. Crowley opened his mouth to try to protest the angel’s smug look, but all that came out was a squeak.

“You ok, Crowley?”

Damn, he wanted to disappear. Crowley opened his mouth, this time managing to produce a choked “Ngk!”

“Sleep well, did you?” The angel’s smile seemed to be more sincere than smug, but Crowley couldn’t be fooled. Taking a deep breath, the demon found his voice.

“Don’t patronize me, you bloody idiot.”

Aziraphale frowned slightly, but before he could say anything Crowley continued.

“Oi, angel, I was _asleep_. I didn’t mean to get that close! I wasn’t in control of my own actions. Plus, you’re one to talk! You know, you’re the one who decided to lay down in bed with me – you were asking for it! You were –“ Crowley stopped himself, however. As much as he wanted to inform the angel that _he _was the one who had started the snuggling, he couldn’t bring himself to deliver such a stinging blow when Aziraphale was just as blameless as he was. As pissed and embarrassed as he was for the situation at hand, he didn’t want to hurt Aziraphale - especially considering that the angel’s look of concern.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale started. “I think you misunderstand. I’m not laughing at you, Crowley, I was just surprised-”

“Ssssure.” Crowley hissed, feeling his cheeks flush. Regardless of whether or not Aziraphale was laughing at him, the demon was still embarrassed and just wanted it to stop. “You know what, forget it. Let’s get some breakfast and pretend this bloody thing never happened.”

Crowley straightened his collar and began to open the door to the van, refusing to make eye-contact with the slightly bewildered angel in his wake. However, as his feet hit the ground, the demon received the shock of his immortal life. Circling around his waist, ensnaring him in warm bliss, Aziraphale’s strong arms pulled him into a hug. Crowley froze. This felt just as good as it had before, but this time the angel was doing it on purpose? Crowley wasn’t sure what was happening. Was this some sort of trap? Was the angel trying to expose him? Nearly every fiber in his demonic being wanted nothing more than to melt into the angel, to forget everything he had said and just bask in the warmth.

However, the part of Crowley that refused to let him fall victim to humiliation protested loudly. Twisting his limber body around to face the angel who was kneeling on the mattress, face only inches away from his own, Crowley did his best to scowl. This attempt, however, was met with a laugh from Aziraphale which Crowley simultaneously hated and adored.

“Is this ok, dear?” Aziraphale asked, loosening his arms and dropping his hands to his hips to allow Crowley to pull away if he so desired. The demon froze, faced with a decision. He had been sure the angel was mocking him only seconds before, but now he was reciprocating what every nerve in his body was screaming for? He couldn’t face what could happen. Although Crowley knew he would never _ever _be able to leave the angel completely, the idea of baring his heart and having Aziraphale not feel the same way would change their relationship for the worse, and Crowley didn’t think he could handle it.

But that wasn’t what was happening, was it? Aziraphale, hands still resting warmly on his hips, was smiling down on him with his beautiful blue eyes displaying care and trust and… _adoration. _He wasn’t upset in the slightest. Crowley blinked, slightly aware that his face was growing pinker by the second. He wasn’t sure what to say to the angel. How does one express that they want nothing more than to fall into the other’s arms after 6000 bloody years of not touching?

Because, bless it, it _had_ been 6000 years. As far back as Eden, Crowley wanted little more than to be close to Aziraphale. Memories danced through his mind, snippets of meetings over the millennia, dinners in long-forgotten restaurants, conversations about long-dead persons. Every single one of them, no matter the context or length, was wonderful. Before the other night, the pair had never come in contact in anything more than a casual handshake and Crowley truly was ok with that as long as he got to be with the angel. But, late at night when it had been too long since he had last seen him, he couldn’t help but want more. Crowley dreamed of courting (Crowley _hated _that word, but it was accurate) the angel, starting off slowly with more romantic dinners, clasping the angel’s hand, and beginning to be more open with him about how he really felt. Eventually this would escalate and despite the number of times Crowley imagined kissing him until he moaned, each of their subsequent meetings was clandestine as ever and Aziraphale was never the wiser - that was just how it was with the Arrangement. Until now.

It was a good thing that the demon didn’t need to breathe because he had stopped again. _‘Is this ok dear?’ Somebody_, it was more than ok. It was more than Crowley ever thought he would actually receive, more than he ever deserved. It felt _right_. He wasn’t sure how to put into words just how ‘ok’ it was. Crowley met the angel’s eyes as, in one fell swoop, he pitched forward, wrapped his arms around the angel’s soft middle, and tackled him to the mattress. At first, Aziraphale felt tense and Crowley was ready to pull away, but quickly he giggled and softened, wrapping his own arms around the demon, their bodies half-in-half-out of the van. They stayed like that for several minutes before adjusting so that they were both comfortably secure on the bed with their fingers intertwined once again.

Finally speaking, Crowley answered as clearly as he could considering how fuzzy his mind was, “Yeah, angel. ‘S’okay.”

Aziraphale laughed. “I gathered as much, my dear boy. I’m terribly sorry if I upset you before – I wasn’t trying to make fun of you, I was just surprised. Pleasantly so, actually. I was just so, well, _engrossed_ by seeing you there that I may have forgotten my manners. I know I’m not generally one to engage in, well, physical contact, but I have to admit that this is very nice.” The angel seemed to be trying to be nonchalant, but the blush on his face confirmed just what Crowley had suspected; Aziraphale had wanted this for a while too.

Crowley smirked, pushing bit closer to the angel. “Well, angel, I can’t say I didn’t notice. You probably don’t remember, but _you _were the one who snuggled up next to _me _last night.”

Aziraphale’s face blushed a beautiful shade of rose as he began to stammer some sort of apology which seemed irrelevant considering their current situation, and Crowley stopped him with a gentle squeeze of his hand. “No worries, angel. It worked out, didn’t it?”

Confirming this sentiment, Aziraphale turned to face Crowley and wrapped his sturdy arm around the demon’s waist and rested his hand on the demon’s hip. Crowley in turn slid his fingers into the angel’s hair. It was new, it was different, and Crowley frankly wasn’t sure such happiness could last. However, looking into the angel’s eyes he knew that everything was ok, at least for the moment. Crowley slithered his free arm around the angel and the pair of them stayed like that, drifting in and out of sleep, well into the late morning.

…

When the two beings had finally pulled themselves together (or, as the case at hand was, _apart_), they had packed up the van and were currently driving out of the park. Aziraphale was once again looking out the window, and Crowley, still fuzzy from the morning of snuggling, had time to reflect.

Crowley wasn’t exactly sure where they stood in their relationship. Cuddling up next to the angel was heavenly (in the well-recognized meaning of the word, not reminiscent of actual heaven) and he knew Aziraphale had enjoyed it too. This was spectacular, reflected Crowley. Only days before he never could have dreamed of even hugging the angel, let alone spending hours under a pile of blankets together.

However, Crowley couldn’t quite block out the nagging part of him that wouldn’t shut up. That part, Crowley acknowledged with a flash of self-hatred, was that which wanted to pin the angel down and kiss him senseless.

But, from what he could tell, Aziraphale was simply relieved that they had finally touched. Crowley felt like a fool for not realizing it sooner, but after the morning’s events it became clear to him that he wasn’t the only one who wanted this. Aziraphale was good at hiding it, and had it not been for his unconscious slip-up last night, Crowley may not have ever put two and two together. The lingering stares between their goodbyes and their actual departures. The subtle way he tended to lean in to the demon when they had drank just a bit too much. The hand-holding the other night which had ended in a flush. The angel was… what was the human term? Touch-starved. Aziraphale, The Guardian of the Eastern Gate, was a powerful entity, but in regards to personal contentment he was as weak as they came. Although the angel never would explicitly ask for any sort of contact, the desire was there (thank somebody that Crowley hadn’t just been hopefully imagining it). Crowley could tell, as he had stroked his hair, that the angel was relishing every second of it like he had never been touched before. Truthfully, he thought with a pang of sadness, he probably never had been. The way the angel had melted into his touch made Crowley curse himself for not doing it centuries ago.

It was for this reason that Crowley didn’t press Aziraphale about what any of it meant. Onlookers would undoubtedly see them as a couple, but for them it was just therapeutic, a way to eliminate some of the tension. At least that’s what Aziraphale probably saw it as, and Crowley did his best (despite that annoying voice in the back of his mind that wanted more) to keep boundaries in place and not to touch the angel in any way that wasn’t platonically comforting. He would never want to violate his trust, but if Crowley was being honest with himself he frankly didn’t mind the theoretical misconception about the pair’s relationship.

However, regardless of Crowley’s stupid romantic plans or Aziraphale’s implied desire to do the opposite, it was clear that the pair had agreed on one thing. From the minute they had fallen into each other’s arms, they had reached an unspoken agreement that they would never sleep apart ever again. As confused as Crowley was, this was more than he could ever have hoped for. Only weeks ago Crowley wasn’t sure they’d even survive - now the two of them, hurtling down the highway in the van they shared, finally had given into their desire to be close to one another. Fuck heaven, fuck hell, and fuck that part of Crowley that wanted more. They were free, and it was spectacular.


End file.
